


kiss me on the mouth (and set me free)

by Ejunkiet



Series: the rapture in the dark [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (and sex. who are we kidding.), F/M, Romance, expect snark and shenanigans and intimacy, incl. booty calls that really aren't booty calls, kisses and kisses, love and loss and tenderness, maps out the progression of their relationship, nonverbal communication and not-quite confessions, see individual chapters for ratings and buckle in folks., they're falling in deep. a love story told in moments.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: There are many types of kisses, Olivia learns, during the first few months she spends with Mason.--An unexpected love story, told in moments.(incl. a kiss on the throat (a promise); a breathless demand - “kiss me”; a fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip.)
Relationships: Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: the rapture in the dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039577
Comments: 67
Kudos: 132





	1. a kiss on the throat (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> A series that maps the progression of the relationship between Detective Olivia Greene and Specialist Agent Mason.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a kiss on the throat (detective olivia greene and mason)
> 
> \--
> 
> _There are many types of kisses, Olivia learns, during the first few months she spends with Mason._

There are many types of kisses, Olivia learns, during the first few months she spends with Mason.

Soft kisses, light and teasing. Tempting. Skating against the curve of her throat, breath hot against her skin, his eyes dark and glittering when he pulls away; a challenge, a dare.

Demanding kisses. Kisses filled with a want and a _need_ , for her body, and what he can offer her, and what they can share together.

(These are her favourite, she thinks. He hides nothing from her, his attraction and desires blatantly obvious, an offer that’s always on the table, ready for when she wants it. 

Or needs it, with the mounting pressure of her position, the weight of the bounty on her head, and all she wants is to not _think_ about this anymore, when she finds herself knocking on his door at three o’clock in the morning and not leaving until noon the next day.

Even faced with Felix’s knowing grin the next morning - even as much as she _hates_ the idea that _everyone knows_ \- she would still make the same choices all over again.)

There are other kisses, less frequent. Rarer. Kisses to express concern, kisses as an apology.

(“I don’t apologise for what I am”, he’d told her once, and true to his words, he doesn’t. 

But there are moments, after the fight that she thought might end whatever this was between them, in the space between breaths when they’re looking at each other, regretting the things they’ve said - where she thinks he might want to.)

And then there are kisses of forgiveness, gentle and soft, given with a deliberateness and honesty that makes her heart tremble inside of her chest, makes her wonder if, just maybe, he too-

The sweetest and the most painful is the kiss of goodbye. I love you, she doesn’t say, won’t. Something about the look he gives her in return tells her that he already knows.


	2. (not a) booty call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long after their first night together, Mason turns up outside of her apartment.
> 
> \--
> 
> _"Mason."_
> 
> _His eyes are a winter storm, irises swallowed by the weight of his pupils as they meet hers, glinting in the light from the streetlamp outside. “Are you going to invite me up?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond. (Olivia/Mason, please!) ~agentnatesewell

"Hello, sweetheart."

Of all the people she'd expected to see at her door tonight, it wasn't him.

This was a booty call. He’s not even trying to be subtle about it, mouth curled into a smirk as he looks her over, taking in the silk robe she’d knotted quickly around her waist at the knock on her door - _arrogant,_ and she flirts with the idea of shutting the door, wonders what the look on his face would be if she did.

"Mason."

His eyes are a winter storm, irises swallowed by the weight of his pupils as they meet hers, glinting in the light from the streetlamp outside. “Are you going to invite me up?”

Her eyes narrow, her fingernails clicking against the doorframe as she adjusts her grip on the door, considering it. One push - and then he’d be gone.

"Is there a reason I should?"

His smirk lengthens, showing a hint of teeth, before he steps in close, close enough that she can smell the earthen scent of him - sandalwood and smoke, somehow untainted by the cigarettes he always carries with him, although nowadays they mainly remain unlit.

She can’t help the way she responds to the action, even when she knows that he’s listening for it - can’t help the way her breath catches in her throat at his approach, the uptick in her heart rate as he takes another step further, until he’s right in her personal space.

He ducks his head until his mouth brushes her ear, his voice a low purr as he replies, "I don't know sweetheart, why don't you tell me?"

He's close enough now that she can feel the soft rush of his breath against her hair, and it's - too much, too soon. She places her palm against his chest, fingers splayed in a silent request, and he stops, drawing back until he’s restored some of the distance between them.

She can feel the weight of his eyes on her as she looks away.

While she can't say she isn't interested, she's still trying to figure this thing out. After the attack in her apartment - the _second one_ , the one that left Douglas comatose in the Agency infirmary - she'd been eager for a distraction, anything to take her mind off of her failure to protect one of her own.

Mason had been - good, for that. More than good. 

That didn't mean that it was more than a one time thing.

“You’re thinking too much about this, sweetheart.”

His voice is low, softer than she was expecting. His heart rate is steady beneath her hand where it rests against his chest, and when she meets his gaze again, there’s no frustration, just patience. 

Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reaches up to her wrist, thumb pressing lightly against her pulse.

“You don’t need to think with me.”

It always surprises her when he does that. Touches her like that, purposeful and gentle. She knows just how much power he carries within those hands, has seen the evidence of the destruction they can wreak herself, bones shattering as if they were nothing, concrete pulverised into dust.

She should be wary of them - cautious, at least. But she isn’t.

He touches her like that, and all she can think of is the last time his hands were on her, during the night they shared together. The way his kisses that night that had felt like a bonfire, steady and all-consuming, building until all she could think about was his mouth on hers, and the way he was devouring her, fingers clutched tight to the curve of her waist, stealing the breath from her lungs-

"Detective.”

She takes a sharp breath, a flush of heat rising to her cheeks as she blinks and finds his eyes still on hers, pupils wide within the grey storm of his irises.

_“Olivia.”_

The way his mouth curls around her name, his soft accent making the syllables roll, sends another shock of heat through her, and the blush deepens on her cheeks as he gives a slow grin, dark eyes glittering. He bites down on his lip.

He knows he's winning, and that fact makes her want to shut the door in his face again, her hand flexing against his chest as she considers it, before his gaze drops down to her mouth, and any other thought aside from chasing that sensation again flees from her mind.

Just - _“Kiss me.”_ It’s a breathless demand, tinged with impatience, and he meets it with a grin, wide and victorious, and so shit-eatingly _smug_ , that she almost takes it back.

But then he closes the distance between them with a single step - and does just that.

(This kiss is - perfect. More than. It feels like the start of something.)

(But it isn’t, and it won’t be with him.)


	3. (really not a) booty call (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time he knocks on her door, something has changed.
> 
> \--
> 
> _“You should still be in the medical ward.” The words are a low growl, and he’s angry, and more than a little of that is directed at her, but she stands her ground, meeting his stare full on._
> 
> _“Elidor said I was free to go.”_
> 
> _His hand raises, his touch gentle as he traces the bruises on her forearm, the scrapes where the talons hadn’t quite broken the skin. “You don’t look ‘ready to go’, sweetheart.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip (olivia/mason). - Evilbunnyking
> 
>  **Rating: mature. No specific tags.** (also, there are many, many kisses here.) 
> 
> this was also written to fulfil the 31daysofwayhaven prompt 'trust' (a few days late, but we got there!)

The next time he knocks on her door, something has changed.

It’s been a long night. She feels exhausted and sore, her shoulder aching from the trauma of almost being wrenched from its socket, and a line of purple bruises has already started to mark up the length of her forearms, spindly shadows that outline the shape of long fingers, deepest where the talons had nearly punctured her skin.

She will have a black eye tomorrow, if the dull throb above her cheekbone is any indication - but at least her nose hadn’t been broken (again). 

She feels battered and bruised, but more importantly, she feels _alive,_ and there’s a lot to be said for that.

After what had felt like hours of unnecessary fuss at the agency medical facility, under the hands of the strangely compelling yet overprotective doctor, Felix had offered her a ride home, giving her a reprieve from the near constant attention. 

It was with reluctance that the fae clinician had allowed it, and not without provisions: **bedrest** , and no strenuous activity with the shoulder for at least a week.

(“This would be easier with magic,” he’d stated, bluntly, although his tone is softer than the words themselves would suggest, resigned as she shakes her head, having already anticipated her answer: _no._

She’d allowed it, once, at Rebecca’s request. The damage that had been dealt by Murphy had been extensive, and without magic, it would have been likely that she’d suffer muscle weakness and never fully regain the use of her hand. But that had been the only exception. 

Her scars and bruises represented who she was, well-earned and well-deserved. She’d take the slow route to recovery, when she could.)

She’d been obeying the doctor’s orders, to the _letter_ , when she’d first heard the knock at the door.

She hadn’t been expecting company.

The knock comes again, heavy and loud, too loud for this time of night, the wooden frame trembling under the force.

She crosses the apartment towards where she’s stashed her weapon, wincing as she reaches to open the drawer with her bad arm, freezing with her fingers on the grip as she hears the muffled curses from the other side, lilted and crude and instantly recognisable.

Mason.

She pulls her hand away from the weapon, biting down on her lip as she considers the door, flexing her fingers to distract herself from the ache in her shoulder.

She hadn’t expected him to be back this soon. They had been in different teams, a two-pronged operation that had taken both him and Adam to the other side of town, while she, Nate and Felix had met with the renegade wolfpack leaders to negotiate a truce. 

(The talks had failed, obviously, and she’d been grabbed as ‘leverage’ for all of five seconds before Felix had broken their grip on her, and they’d fled the building together. During the course of the escape, they’d tried to grab her again - and her arm had been yanked out of the socket in the process.) 

All in all, the mission was a crapshoot, and all she wanted was to spend the night in her own bed, _alone,_ licking her wounds.

The knocking stops abruptly, a hushed silence falling across her apartment, before he calls her name.

_“Olivia.”_

He sounds - sounds like he’s in pain, the air punched from his chest, voice strained, and she’s crossing the room before she’s even noticed she’s moving, flipping the latches with her good hand and pulling the door open.

Mason enters in a rush of air, smelling of cedar and cigarette smoke, barely waiting for her to shut the door before he steps in close, crowding her against it.

His mouth hovers just above hers, a question in his storm grey eyes as they flicker between hers, waiting - and at her nod, he closes the distance between them, capturing her mouth in a kiss.

It's frantic, all-consuming, a mess of soft lips and sharp teeth, edged with an emotion she can't put into words as his hands frame her face, slipping back to tangle in the mess of her hair, tilting her head back.

This had not been what she was expecting. She can’t complain, as she chases his mouth when he pulls back, her teeth catching on his lip and earning her a muted growl. His dark eyes shutter open to meet hers, pupils wide and blown as he exhales, and she soothes the sting of it with her tongue.

With a muffled groan, his mouth moves to her jaw, forging a burning path across her skin as he nips at the hinge, trailing down the column of her neck, and she wraps her good arm around him, grasping at his shoulder.

_“Mason.”_

He hums low in response, and she can feel the rumble of it within his chest as his mouth moves to the juncture of her shoulder - and he freezes when she makes a soft sound, his touch reawakening the ache there - and _shit._

He pulls away, his eyes dark as he looks her over, taking in the details for the first time - the careful way she’s holding her shoulder, his stare lingering on the marks on her arms, visible beneath the short sleeves of her pajama set.

“You should still be in the medical ward.” The words are a low growl, and he’s angry, and more than a little of that is directed at her, but she stands her ground, meeting his stare full on.

“Elidor said I was free to go.”

His hand raises, his touch gentle as he traces the bruises on her forearm, the scrapes where the talons hadn’t quite broken the skin. “You don’t look ‘ready to go’, sweetheart.”

“Humans take a little extra time to heal.”

“Only if they refuse proper treatment.”

He peels away from her, agitated as he steps further into her apartment, and as she pushes away from the door, she can see that he hadn't gotten away unscathed himself - there are new tears in his jeans, bloodstains on his shirt that hadn't been there this morning.

Something tightens in her chest at the sight of it, and she clenches her fingers against it, steeling herself.

She can feel the weight of his stare, burning against her skin even as she glances away. He’s waiting for an explanation, and she doesn’t have one - at least not one he will accept.

“I have my reasons,” She starts, and he scoffs, turning on his heel to walk away, and she reaches out with her good hand, stopping him with a hand against his chest. "I need you to trust me on this. Please."

She can feel the steady pace of his heart beat beneath her palm, see the way the tension in him eases at the touch, the same way it does for her. It's something she's only just beginning to come to terms with, the weight of this thing between them, and how it affects them both.

He looks at her then, really looks, holding her stare, before his eyes drop to the scar on her wrist, his gaze lingering there for a long moment, the harsh line of his mouth softening.

When he meets her gaze again, there’s a strange light there that she can’t put a name to.

Before she can open her mouth to ask him about it, he closes the distance between them again.

He kisses her, and this time it’s different - slower, intent. The fierce energy from before is gone, his movements slower, more deliberate as his hands settle on her hips, long fingers curling at the edges of sleeping shorts. It almost feels like an apology. 

_Almost._

He bends, just enough to wrap his hands around her thighs before he lifts her, releasing a low chuckle at her muffled gasp as she breaks away from the kiss long enough to admonish him. _“Mason.”_

He’s still chuckling as she tightens her grip around his neck, his breath hot against her throat, fueling the rising flush on her cheeks. “I’ll be careful, sweetheart.”

It only takes a few long strides before they’ve reached the bedroom, and she catches his eye as he lowers them both onto the bed, his hands slipping up to find the curve of her waist, warm palms seeking skin as they slide beneath the hem of her shirt where it’s ridden up on her stomach.

“Getting me to break doctor’s orders already?”

He huffs out another laugh, a smirk curling up his lips even as he glances significantly at her shoulder. “Thought you’d already decided against following them.”

His tone is dry, but not as severe as it had been before, and so she lets him have the point.

Laying back on her bed like this with him hovering over her, her hair swept away from her face, it’s not long before he notices the bruising developing around her eye. A low growl catches in his throat as he leans forward, hand moving up to trace against the side of her face, mapping the outline that she could barely see in the mirror earlier, but still feels all the same.

“Where were the others when this happened?”

“Fighting their own battles.” She sets her jaw and meets his gaze, and there’s a challenge there, daring him to take this further. “You know that I can hold my own.”

He holds her gaze a moment, before the corner of his mouth lifts into a faint smirk, conceding the point. “First hand experience of that.”

His hands move to her stomach, toying with the hem of her shirt in an unspoken request. 

(There’s that strange light in his eyes again.)

She nods, dropping her arm from around his neck as he shifts down the bed, his hands slipping beneath her shirt and lifting it, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the revealed skin as he maps a path down her abdomen. 

She shivers as he breaks away, his grey eyes dark and glinting as they flicker across her form before meeting hers. “Lay back, sweetheart.”

She bites her lip as he slides his hands down to her thighs, his fingers brushing the edges of her shorts, his eyes gleaming as she shifts against the sheets. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest, before dipping his head to press his mouth against her skin once more.

He takes his time with it, his movements slow and deliberate as he undresses her, using his hands and mouth to map out the marks - new and old - that make up the patchwork of her past.

(There are more than she’d realised - scars she hadn’t noticed before, bruises that have risen since the altercation, and he takes note of each one, leaving behind a trail of burning, soft kisses until she’s shivering for an entirely different reason.)

He’s careful with her shoulder, his hands gentle as he helps ease her arm out of the sleeve, before he leans back, shucking his own shirt and jeans with quick, efficient movements and returns to her, dipping his head low to kiss her again.

This kiss is nothing like the other two - it builds, his touch light as his hands skim along her skin, gentle, almost careful, as if she’s delicate, something to be protected - and just for tonight, that’s okay.

The tension builds between them, gentle touches growing firmer, kisses more frantic, until they finally come together - and it’s the same as the kiss, soft and tender and _intimate,_ and she hasn’t done this with him before, not like this. Slow and achingly soft, until her heart trembles within her chest, until there are tears in her eyes and she’s filled to bursting with an emotion she can’t name, _she won’t-_

(She calls his name as she reaches her peak, body bowing beneath his, and he hushes her, capturing her mouth again, kissing her through it, _“I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m here.”_ )

After, he stays until she falls asleep, his hands in her hair, tangled there, her head against his chest, and it's - good.

In the morning, the space next to her is empty, the lingering heat of him gone. 

The memory, though. The memory remains.

(She has no idea what comes next.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr as ejunkiet!


	4. (just a) movie night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of Hitchcock, old video formats and the proportions of _certain parts_ of human anatomy.
> 
> \--
> 
> _“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”_
> 
> _She glances up to see that he’s watching her, his grey eyes dark as they flicker across her features. She takes in the way he shifts in the seat, leans in a little closer; she has a feeling she knows what is on his mind._
> 
> _“You said you like Hitchcock. Do you have a favourite?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a "kissing while laughing" prompt fill, with added innuendo and bad puns (you're welcome).
> 
> For the timeline, this is moving forward a bit... set late winter/early spring.

It's late in the agency facility and they're curled together on the sofa in the warehouse rec room, her head against Mason's shoulder, his hand on her thigh, warm through the thick fabric of her jeans, thumb pressing against the seam. 

The film had finished a short while ago, the credits long over, but neither of them are willing to move just yet, comfortable as they are, watching the credits roll across the screen.

(It'd been a Hitchcock, one of her favourites. She'd been surprised to learn that it was one of his too, a comment that had earned her a raised brow and a sharp retort: _I’m old, not dead, sweetheart._

“I can appreciate good cinema,” he’d continued, reaching around her to where his jacket is folded across the back of the sofa, fishing out his packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “They’re all good, except for the Birds." 

Here he’d paused, lighting up and taking a drag of his cigarette, before his arm had returned to the back of the sofa, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. 

"Although, that one was pretty good for _picking up_ birds _._ ")

Felix had left half way through the film, the slower pace of the thriller unable to hold his attention span for long, and since then, Mason had gradually gravitated closer: slipping from the corner of the couch into the seat, his hand finding her thigh as she shifted in turn to rest against him.

The silence between them is comfortable, filled with the soft hum of static from the old CRT screen as it cools, metal ticking. It’s an odd sight to see, a modern relic in the midst of all the advanced technology housed within the facility, but it had been a special request from Nate, along with the VCR player underneath, shelves layered with video cassettes she remembered from her childhood.

It’s not the best medium to watch films on - the quality is poor, the edges of the screen fuzzy and scratched from overuse - but something about the nostalgic format, the half-forgotten campaigns for _‘be kind, rewind’,_ makes her think it’s the perfect choice for the space. 

She’ll have to thank Nate for letting them borrow the room later.

Mason’s hand on her thigh draws her out of her thoughts, his thumb dragging along the outer seam of her jeans. His voice is low as he asks, “Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

She glances up to see that he’s watching her, his grey eyes dark as they flicker across her features, taking in the way he shifts in the seat, leans in a little closer. She has a feeling she knows what is on _his_ mind.

Biting her lip, she considers her answer. “You said you like Hitchcock. Do you have a favourite?”

His gaze drops to her mouth, holding there for a long second before he speaks again. 

“Rear window. James Stewart makes a good impression, and it’s a good story.”

She releases a short breath, not missing the way his lips curve into a smirk as he takes in her reaction - she hadn’t expected him to take the question seriously.

"I have to admit, I didn't think that would be your top choice."

“Well, he’s a voyeur, sweetheart.” His dark eyes meet hers again, his pupils blown wide in the low light, before he leans in, a not-so-subtle glint in his gaze as his fingers flex against her thigh. His mouth brushes against her ear, barely more than a murmur as he continues, “What’s not to like?”

His touch is a burning brand against her skin, even through the material of her jeans, and there’s a heat in his gaze that never fails to spark a similar tension within her, coiling and hot in the pit of her stomach.

But - that was just _so cheesy._

She can’t help it - she laughs, raising a hand to cover her face as she presses the other against his chest, applying gentle pressure until he moves back, albeit reluctantly. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that he was _pouting_.

“You can do better than that, Sunshine.” 

He grumbles at that, his lip curling, and she laughs again, leaning in until she can press a soft kiss against his lips, lingering as he tilts his head to deepen it, licking into her mouth.

She releases a shaky exhale, twisting in his arms as her hand raises to cup his jaw, nails scratching at the stubble there as his hand falls from the back of the sofa to curl around her hip, drawing her in closer.

It’s a long moment before she pulls away, slightly breathless even as she smiles, dropping her hand from his jaw to settle against his chest, feeling the steady weight of his heartbeat beneath her palm. 

“We should move.”

Adjusting his grip, Mason squeezes his hand around her thigh, briefly. “Or, we could _stay.”_

His voice is a low purr, the tension from earlier returning in full force, hot and simmering between them - and she can’t say she isn’t tempted. “At least lose the remote - it’s digging into my hip.”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, before his mouth returns to her ear, his voice low and filthy. “That’s not the remote.”

She chokes on empty air, sputtering, before she pulls back to look at him. “You’re _joking.”_

“You can check for yourself, sweetheart.”

She bites her lip, taking in the way his eyes track the movement, the winter storm of his irises darkening, before he shifts in his seat and leans back, draping his arms over the back of the sofa once more.

It's a clear invitation, and tentatively, she reaches down, wrapping her hands around the-

Remote.

It’s Mason’s turn to laugh at her expense, loud and unabashed, and she almost throws the damn thing at him. Jesus - he doesn’t _stop_ , his whole frame shaking with it, cheeks flushing dark beneath his freckles as her own redden despite her best efforts, and she huffs out an annoyed breath.

Still chuckling, he meets her gaze, teeth gleaming as he gives her a wide grin. “Oh _sweetheart,_ you’re too kind.”

And that’s _enough_. “Shut _up.”_

His eyes are warm, creasing at the corners as he looks at her, before he’s leaning in, hand catching her jaw and guiding her into another soft kiss. It deepens as her hands find his hair, tangling amidst the dark strands, and this - this is the moment that she realises that she loves him. 

(And she thinks maybe she has for a while.)

Her heart is a thundering thing in her chest, and she breaks away from the kiss to breathe, to _think,_ but it’s a difficult thing to do when his mouth is so _distracting,_ trailing to the corner of her jaw, her throat, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against her skin until she’s trembling for an entirely different reason, and _oh._

His hands find the hem of her shirt, his mouth returning to hers in a kiss that’s _filthy_ as his palms slip beneath it, circling her waist before dragging her fully into his lap - and it’s safe to say that she’s thoroughly distracted from her thoughts for the rest of the evening.

-

Later, Olivia wakes to a sharp knock at the door, before a slip of paper is pushed underneath it.

It takes some maneuvering, but Mason slips out from their embrace to retrieve it, letting out a loud scoff when he reads it, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“What is it?”

Instead of answering, he crosses the room and hands it to her, leaving her to squint through the low light to read it. 

NOT IN THE COMMON SPACES, WE'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS - A

_Shit._


	5. "Are you drunk?" (interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wayhaven celebrates the “successful capture” of Ethan Murphy.
> 
> \--
> 
> _“That’s one hell of a greeting, sweetheart._
> 
> _Her stance falters and she blinks, squinting again. “Mason?”_
> 
> _“And Felix.” The shorter of the two figures step forward, and she can see him then, the bright gleam of his eyes as he looks her over, before his mouth splits into a wide grin._
> 
> _“Are you drunk?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A throwback to the end of book one, and the first of a short series that discusses the aftermath of certain events.
> 
> Dialogue prompt, "are you drunk?"

She is drunk. Holy shit, _she is drunk._

She hadn’t meant for this to happen. It was just going to be a drink, maybe two, to take the edge off - but then two had turned into four, had turned into shots, the whole town turning out to congratulate her after the completion of her first case as a detective. The successful capture of the ‘Wayhaven Butcher’, as that goddamn reporter Bobby Marks had dubbed him, and really, who was she to refuse their hospitality?

Never mind the fact that Murphy _hadn’t_ been caught, but had instead vanished into thin air, his mission complete. Never mind the fact that the knowledge that he’s still out there, _hunting her_ , had haunted her every moment since she had woken up in hospital, bruised and bloody mouthed, the memory of his teeth on her skin-

But after a handful of tequila shots, she had finally been free of it. For a time, at least.

And now - now, she’s not thinking of anything at all. She’s just walking. That’s all she needs to do: walk. Easy. One step, another. She squints at the street around her, recognising familiar landmarks, even if she can’t quite read the signs themselves - and she knows she’s not that far from home, now.

Another step - and then her path is blocked, two shadowy figures appearing in front of her, and _shit._

She stumbles to a halt, swaying on her feet as she squints at the figures, their forms blurry and indistinct, waiting to see what they do next, and _shitshitshit._

They aren’t moving, and somewhere beneath the layers of alcohol, she registers this as a Problem. Shifting on her feet into a better stance, she raises her hands, curling her hands into an approximation of fists, squaring up to the threat - if it’s a fight they want, she’ll give it to them.

“That’s one hell of a greeting, sweetheart.”

Her stance falters and she blinks, squinting again. “Mason?”

“And Felix.” The shorter of the two figures step forward, and she can see him then, the bright gleam of his eyes as he looks her over, before his mouth splits into a wide grin. “Are you drunk?”

“No?” She winces - that wasn’t meant to sound like a question. “No! Nooooo-”

There’s a flurry of movement, and she takes a breath as suddenly Mason is _there_ ; she can tell because he smells like cigarettes and that gentle cedar-forest-type smell that always makes her think of scented candles _._ She blinks, stumbling back a step - and warm hands catch her around the waist, stabilising her as she wobbles back on her heels.

“You sure about that, Detective?” 

Fuck. _“Duck,”_ she says, and there’s another loud laugh from Felix as Mason takes another step closer, the heat of him chasing away the chill that’s been creeping up on her ever since she stopped moving. 

A warm hand cups her face, thumb running along her cheekbone before it slips down the slope of her cheek and clasps her chin, tilting her head upwards. Familiar grey eyes swim into focus, narrowed as they flicker across her features, lingering only briefly on her mouth, before meeting her gaze.

She can’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds before the swirling motion of the world around them makes her feel nauseous and she has to look away. 

Twisting her head from his grip, she pushes ineffectually against his chest. _“Lemme go.”_

His hand drops away from her jaw and he steps back, although he doesn’t go far, and when she chances another glance at him, she can’t tell if his expression is amused or annoyed.

“You’re _very_ _drunk_.” Felix certainly sounds amused by the whole thing, and at least _someone_ is enjoying this.

Frowning, she folds her arms across her chest as she meets Mason’s dark stare with a glare of her own - or at least, narrows her eyes in his general direction. “I was at a bar, what’d you - think would happen?”

His dark eyes narrow before he lets out a scoff, crossing his arms in turn as he replies sharply, “Alone?”

(For some reason, it almost sounds like he means _without me?)_

 _“No._ Adam was there.” She pauses for a moment after she says it before grinning suddenly, wide and victorious. “Managed to give him the slip, though.”

Felix lets out another loud laugh as Mason’s dark eyes flicker behind her, lips twisting into a wide smirk. 

“You did, huh?”

A long suffering sigh comes from behind her, before a familiar voice manages to growl, _“Temporarily.”_

Her heart stutters in her chest, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a long moment. “Adam?”

A heavy hand lands on her shoulder. “Detective.”

_“Shit.”_


	6. in the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia and Adam have a conversation after the altercation with Murphy. 
> 
> \--
> 
> _“You doing okay, sweetheart?”_
> 
> _Running her fingers through her hair, tangling amongst the strands, she can’t keep the bite out of her tone when she replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”_
> 
> _His gaze flicks back up to meet hers, brow rising again before he says, “You’re trembling.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "You're trembling." Also, a kiss on the wrist.
> 
> This fits early into the book two timeline, when the team is preparing to meet with the maa-alused for the first time, where the events of the second chapter of this series have already happened.

_“What makes you think the Agency would let you leave the building with such an advantage?”_

_Murphy pauses, a sneer frozen on his lips as his eyes flicker between the bloodied unit team leader and where she lays splayed across the concrete, struggling to hold onto consciousness as violent shivers wrack through her body. “You’d kill her?”_

_He doesn’t say anything and that is an answer, in and of itself._

_It would be a mercy, she thinks, just before she blacks out._

\--

It’s later, when they’ve all been reunited in the new warehouse facility, the construction spacious and new, sharp with the scent of freshly varnished wood and polished metal, that she thinks of that moment again.

The conversation had been half-heard, and she’d have thought _half-dreamed_ , if it hadn’t been for the way Adam had looked at her after, when they’d visited her in the hospital, green eyes dark and muted as they flickered between her and Rebecca, edged with something like regret.

Watching the careful, measured way Adam deals with her after her long absence, the way he doesn’t quite meet her gaze when they’re speaking, she thinks that he’s thinking about it too. 

More than that, it becomes evidently clear that he’s avoiding her. 

It’s not obvious at first. She doesn’t see him on the days he’s scheduled to patrol, but she hadn’t expected to. On the days where they meet at her office to brief her on the situation, he’s the last in and first out, attending to the meeting notes and files with the same, steady dedication that he applies to every task he’s been given.

It only gets worse, stretching out into their everyday interactions, until she finds that she has barely spent more than five seconds alone with him in a room since that final meeting in the hospital.

It's not long after the incident at the carnival when she finally has to say enough is _enough._ They’re discussing the arrangements for the meeting with the maa-alused, a risky mission when they have so little information to go on, and he hasn’t looked at her more than once since the hour long meeting had started.

She waits until the rest of the team has filtered out of the meeting room before she joins him at the front of the room, Mason lingering in the doorway for a long moment, grey eyes flickering between them before he goes, until she’s sure they’re finally alone. 

Clearing her throat, she addresses him directly. “Adam, do you have a moment?”

He hesitates before turning to face her. His jaw is tight, she can see the tick of the muscle there, as if he’s clenching it, although his expression smoothes back into neutral calm a moment later.

"Is there something you need, Detective?"

Yes, she thinks as she settles her weight against the back of the sofa, taking in the way he glances between her and the door, as if he's plotting his exit. She does.

She doesn’t bother to soften her words. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

His posture straightens, crossing his arms behind his back, a solid brow rising at the directness of her comment - and he shouldn't be, she's never been one to beat around the bush.

"I have not been avoiding you. I have been… busy." 

She laughs at that, and he frowns, the movement deepening the ever-present furrow between his brows, before his eyes drop down to her wrist, lingering there for a long moment before he meets her gaze again.

"And you have been in recovery."

Her hand rises to cover the silvery scar that marks her wrist, her lips curving into a wry smile. She couldn't have asked for a better opening. "I wanted to talk about that night."

He stiffens, gaze flicking to hers and away again, before turning back to the files. His arms drop, hands finding the edge of the table as he clears his throat, preparing to make his excuses - she cuts him off before he can get them out.

"I wanted you to know, it would have been the right call."

He stops. Just like that. His eyes find hers over the table, over the mess of papers and charts, and - he knows, then. He knows that she’d heard their conversation in the warehouse during the confrontation with Murphy, his final ultimatum, and a dark shadow passes over his expression, twisting the edges of his mouth. 

"It didn't come to that."

"I know." She keeps her own voice soft, knowing she is navigating dangerous waters, but needing to make her point clear, all the same. "But if it did. Some fates are worse than death."

He shakes his head, the muscle in his jaw flexing as his eyes harden, meeting hers in a flash of emerald. His tone is firm, assertive, when he replies, "There would always have been options. Other chances to rescue you."

His words fall flat between them, and she leaves them there - he knows just as well as she does the likelihood of any success after Murphy left the scene with her. The moment draws out between them, not uncomfortable, per say.

She's surprised when Adam speaks first, breaking the hushed silence that has fallen between them.

"I'm glad I didn't have to make that choice."

His eyes are soft, edged with a sadness that seems - old, well-harboured, personal. He meets her gaze then, and her breath catches at the emotion in his gaze, the crystalline depths of them shadowed with a pain that seems older and deeper than she could possibly know.

"For your sake, as well as Rebecca's."

 _Rebecca._ She glances away, his comment stinging in a way she knows he hadn't intended, but feels all the same as she takes in a breath and holds it, and this - this is enough, she thinks.

Releasing the breath, she looks back at him, holding his gaze. "We’re okay, Adam." _You can stop avoiding me._

Confident that she has made her point, she nods at him, pushing back from the table and making her way across the room. She can feel the weight of his stare on her, following her until she leaves, and _christ_ , she hopes that made a difference.

\--

Mason catches up with her outside of her room.

She shouldn't be surprised; he could hardly look away from her during the meeting, his stare a physical thing - and she couldn't say she hadn't felt the same.

There's that pull with him, magnetic and all-consuming, impossible to ignore. Her eyes had been drawn to him from the moment she’d entered the meeting room, finding him where he was perched against an antique side table, doily knocked askew, the white lace incongruous against his dark jeans.

There’d been a grin on his face when he’d met her gaze then, dark eyes glinting with promise through a thin veil of smoke.

Now though, he’s a blank slate; his expression unreadable as he props himself against the doorframe. 

His grey stare flits around the room, taking in the state of it - her clothing on the bed, wardrobe hanging open and empty, waiting to be filled. He doesn't say anything, his posture casual, hands tucked into his low slung jeans, and he’s waiting for something, that much she can guess, although she doesn’t know _what_.

She ignores him instead, continuing with the motions of unpacking her things. They stay like this for a few minutes before the hushed quiet of the agency facility becomes too much and she lets out a short breath, dropping her duffle bag onto the bed and turning to face him.

"Are you planning on hovering there all night?"

A dark brow ticks up at the sharpness of her tone, and she glances away, taking a slow breath and holding it for a long moment. Exhaling harshly, she wishes now more than ever that she had a _cigarette_.

She almost laughs at the thought. It’s been years since she’s had a craving - she’d stopped smoking after her high school days, when she realised just how stupid the habit was. Adam’s earlier mention of Rebecca must have impacted her more than she thought.

He’s still watching her from his position at the door, dark eyes flickering across her features before he finally speaks. “You doing okay, sweetheart?” 

Running her fingers through her hair, tangling amongst the strands, she can’t keep the bite out of her tone when she replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze flicks back up to meet hers, brow rising again before he says, “You’re trembling.”

Startled, she glances down to find that she is. _Shit._ Clenching her hands into fists, she ignores the flash of heat that rises to flood her cheeks, lifting her chin until she can hold his stare. “It’s been a long day.”

He hums at that, eyes dark on hers, considering her for a long moment, before he pushes off the edge of the doorframe. His stride is slow and purposeful as he makes his way across the room, and the way he moves reminds her of a predator, the precision in his gait, the sharpness of his gaze.

He comes to a stop in front of her, close enough that she can feel the heat that radiates from him, solid and steady as he holds her stare. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he reaches out to her, his touch skimming down her arm before wrapping gently around her wrist, the pads of his fingers against her pulse point.

A pause, before he squeezes her wrist gently, lifting it into the space between them, until she can feel his body heat, his breath a soft rush against her skin, warm against the scar there. 

His dark eyes flicker between hers and the mark, waiting for her permission. 

When she nods, he leans forward, pressing his mouth against the mark there slowly, a soft caress. It’s tender and purposeful, and she lets her eyes fall shut, understanding the meaning behind the gesture, what this means.

“You heard the whole conversation, then.”

He lets out a soft huff, not quite a scoff, but close enough, soft and warm against her skin. “I can recognise your heartbeat from a block away.” 

There’s amusement in his voice when he replies, the implication being it’d be hard for him _not_ _to,_ and she opens her eyes in time to catch the brief frown that crosses his expression, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. 

She doesn’t push it, tucking away that bit of knowledge for later.

“Why are you here?”

“Checking up on you.” He shrugs, as if that was no big thing, as if the idea wasn’t completely opposed to the boundaries they’d set in their relationship. Her heart beats heavily inside of her chest, once, her fingers curling briefly, where her wrist still sits in his grip, before she tugs her hand away completely.

“How sentimental of you, Sunshine.” She’s parroting his words back at him, that moment after the carnival stark in her mind, and he lets out another laugh, mouth twisting into a smirk. 

Leaning forward, he looks at her from beneath his lashes, a half-lidded stare, irises dark, a winter storm. 

“Do you want me to leave?”

It’s phrased as a question, but she can see the anticipation, the flex of his fingers around her captured wrist, the way he holds himself back, waiting.

The temptation is there. It’s in the heat that stirs between them, even now - and she’s already made this decision: she’d made it that first night when she’d let him into her apartment, when they’d crossed the threshold of flirtation into something more.

The word is exhaled on a breath, “No.”

"Good." His lips curve into a wide smile, and his eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans in closer. "Cause I seem to remember us having some unfinished business."

It never takes much from him to stir that familiar excitement within her gut, heat settling at the base of her throat as she eyes him in turn - and this, this is familiar territory. Simple and uncomplicated.

“Is that so?”

His dark eyes drop to her mouth, lingering there as his tongue swipes at his lower lip, before he presses even closer, his breath a warm gust against her cheek as he leans in-

To be interrupted by a faint yell, and the sound of rushing footsteps getting closer.

“ _Mason!_ There you are! Nate was looking for-"

There’s a muffled thump as Felix skids to a halt before the open door, narrowly avoiding a collision with the doorframe. 

Hands gripping the frame, hat barely clinging to his hair, his golden eyes sparkle as he focuses on the two of them inside, a wide grin spreading across his features before he gives them an audacious wink.

“I’ll tell him you’re busy.”

“Wait-” he’s gone before she can finish getting the word out, and she can feel the heat rise on her cheeks as he makes his way down the hall. She is not looking forward to the repercussions of _that_ particular conversation - but it’s clear to see that she’s too late to do anything about it.

Mason chuckles, low and deep, the sound rolling in his chest as their eyes meet once again, a smirk curling up his lips.

“Well, sweetheart. Looks like we have all the time we need.”


	7. missing scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You heard our discussion.” It’s not a question and Mason doesn't pretend it is._
> 
> _“Didn’t think she'd bring it up.” He admits, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his features as the gentle burn makes its way down his throat. “She’s got spunk, I’ll give her that."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from the previous chapter: Adam and Mason, after the altercation.

Olivia leaves first, dark eyes shadowed in the low light that filters from the room as she enters the darkened hall, and he watches as she turns towards their rooms, making her way down the corridor. 

It's a long moment before Adam follows. His expression is shadowed, the sharp line of his features unreadable as he appears in the doorway. He hesitates on the threshold, sharp eyes flicking to the right, finding him easily in the shadows.

“Mason.”

He steps out into the light, blinking as his eyes adjust from the gloom of the empty side hall. The detective had been distracted enough that she hadn’t noticed him upon exit, heading straight to her room to unpack the few things she’d brought for her stay here.

“You heard our discussion.” It’s not a question and Mason doesn't pretend it is.

“Didn’t think she'd bring it up.” He admits, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his features as the gentle burn makes its way down his throat. “She’s got spunk, I’ll give her that.”

Adam meets his stare, his mouth smoothing into a firm line - and this is something he’s more familiar with: disapproval. “That’s all you’ll be giving her, I hope.”

He scoffs, leaning back until his back collides with the hall wall, a long smirk curling his lips. “It’s a little late for that."

Adam is watching him, and he can’t tell what he’s thinking. His eyes had been on him all meeting, taking in the way he’d been looking at the detective, and Mason doesn’t know what to do about that.

“You should be careful. It’s likely we will be working together for quite a while.”

His brow rises at the comment, and he turns his head to look at Adam more fully. It’s unlike him to address this topic so directly; the fact that he is means that he takes the matter seriously. 

He reaches into his pocket for his lighter, the cool metal fitting comfortingly within his grip as he fiddles with the hinge. “She knows what she’s getting into.”

Adam’s pale lips twitch into a smile. “I wasn’t talking about her.” 

There's a glimmer in his green eyes that’s as indecipherable as his words, and Mason gives a loud scoff.

"You're reading too much into this."

As he makes his way down the hall, following the same path the detective had taken earlier, he pretends not to hear Adam's softly murmured reply, "I hope so."


	8. I know the end (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason turns up outside of her apartment a third time. Olivia doesn’t let him in.
> 
> \--
> 
> AKA the time it almost ended between them. Book 3 demo spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read "[soak(ed)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27859686)", you should! (it's a smutty interlude set just before the events here <3)
> 
> Part one in a short series exploring the book 3 demo. If you're avoiding book 3 spoilers, feel free to skip to the next interlude!
> 
> Olivia makes a tense exit after the incident at the bakery. This is my view on how the situation is resolved - and I promise you the pay-off is worth it.

When he turns up outside her door after the incident at the bakery and buzzes the number for her apartment, she almost doesn't answer.

She doesn't want to, not really. 

But she wants the closure. She wants him to _know_ exactly where they stand, and so she slips on her leather jacket over her silk robe and makes her way through the halls of the tenement down to the lobby.

“Mason.”

He’s a dark silhouette at the edge of the circle of light cast by the streetlamp, all dark jeans and leather, even on a warm summer night like this. The ruby glint of his cigarette reflects in the dark pools of his eyes, before they’re obscured by another plume of smoke.

His expression is conflicted as he meets her gaze briefly before glancing away, skirting the perimeter, and - right. The Bounty. Adam had mentioned the idea of increasing the frequency of patrols. He was pulling double duty, or had volunteered to take the shift, either or neither, it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to invite me up?”

“Is there a reason why I should?” She keeps her voice steady, holding his gaze when his dark eyes meet hers again, and there’s that pull again, that ache deep inside her gut, and the anger from earlier flares with it, sharp and familiar. The anger, she can work with.

His lips twist around his cigarette and he spits it onto the ground, grinding it under his boot heel. 

“You want to do this out here?”

"The street, the bakery, what does it matter?”

His eyes flash, and he moves to close the distance between them, skirting the arc of the streetlight as he climbs the few short steps to meet her at the door. “I thought we were on the same page.”

“Is that why you’re here?” There’s a bite to her voice that she wishes she could have hidden better, wishes she could take back, but now it’s out there and her cards are laid out on the table, in plain view. “You shouldn’t have bothered. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. We're just _fucking."_

She pauses, and the anger returns, rolling and furious in her gut. “Well, we _were."_

There's a frantic energy about him, a familiar frisson that she can feel inside herself as well, a buzzing that builds inside her ribcage and reverberates through her bones - loud, _so loud,_ a static that blankets out everything else.

"What do you want from me, sweetheart?" His voice is as hard as his eyes, glinting steel flints, his pet name for her harsh on his tongue and she's shaking, she realises belatedly, as her fingers tighten on the wood of the frame.

" _Nothing."_ Her voice is steady, holding, and the bite is back. "Especially not tonight."

She takes a small amount of satisfaction at the way his eyes widen, startled, and there’s a flicker of - something in his dark gaze, before her grip firms on the door and she slams it shut in his face.

But the emotions don't leave her, and she's still shaking as she makes her way through the halls back to her apartment, fingers curled and buried deep inside the pockets of her jacket.

She knew this wasn't going anywhere. He’d been perfectly clear on this point, and she’d walked into it without expectations. She’d enjoyed it. Fuck, she’d _enjoyed it._

It had been easier when the whole arrangement was simpler. She hadn’t noticed when it had stopped being that.

This is- she just needs space. Just until she can figure out what she’s going to do about it. 

If she does anything at all.

(She always lets him back in.)


	9. kiss on the (middle) finger (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accidental meeting in the woods outside the Warehouse facility.
> 
> \--
> 
> _The kiss. He can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to her mouth as she licks a second finger and swipes at her cheek again - and it’s not as if they hadn’t kissed before, many times, but it’s that last one he can’t stop thinking about._
> 
> _The shape of her mouth against his, the way she tasted so fucking sweet, but he didn’t mind it, **liked it** , even-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This continues on directly from the previous chapter, with one more follow up in the works -- fasten your seat belts, folks, as the final part to this is a _ride_. 
> 
> prompt: kiss on the (middle) finger

“Didn’t expect to find you out here.”

Olivia looks as if she’s been dragged through a hedge backwards - which is accurate, if her story was to be believed, except that it hadn’t been hedgerows, it had been trees, and several of them. Surveillance, she had insisted, after he had found her at the end of his patrol route, crouched in the undergrowth just outside the Warehouse perimeter.

(Felix had been assigned to her this shift - and he was still here, trampling through the woods and having the time of _his life,_ if his rapid steps and gleeful breaths as he leapt through the trees were any indication.)

He taps at his cheekbone. “You’ve got something on you. There.”

Rolling her eyes, she licks at her thumb, a darting flash of pink, before she raises it, swiping harshly beneath her eyes, smearing the edges of her mascara while completely missing the streak - fresh sap, he thinks, the scent sticky-sweet and green.

“Did I get it?”

He shakes his head, leaning back on his heels to watch as she lets out an exasperated sigh, smudging at the area uselessly with her thumb.

“Not gonna offer to help me with it this time?” Her tone is wry, for the most part - but there’s an edge to the comment, something that tells him that she’s not ready to forget their final conversation at the bakery, or the moments that came before it. 

The kiss.

He can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to her mouth as she licks a second finger and swipes at her cheek again - and it’s not as if they hadn’t kissed before, many times, but it’s that last one he can’t stop thinking about. The shape of her mouth against his, the way she tasted so fucking sweet, but he didn’t mind it, _liked it,_ even-

He takes a sharp breath, then another, refocusing on where her dark eyes are watching him, expectantly, and _shit._

“Didn’t think you’d be interested.”

It’s the truth, and more of it than he’d been intending on sharing. His lips twist, curving down at the corners as he watches her swipe at her cheek again - once again missing the mark, and she knows it, as she glances back at him, dark eyes narrowed, lips pursing with frustration.

“I think this counts as an exception.”

He raises a brow at that. She’d made her position pretty fucking clear before, but there’s no hesitation or uncertainty in her voice now, just irritation (and a not small amount directed at him). 

Shifting his hands from his pockets, he takes a step closer, watching her closely for any indication that she might change her mind and want him to back off. This is - not new for him, exactly, but he usually didn’t stick around for this part. It hadn’t felt like this before.

(He hadn’t felt _anything_ then, let alone this strange tightness in his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs when he found himself looking at her too long, or when he caught her looking back-)

“Just don’t try anything,” she warns, even as he hears the uptick of her heart rate at his proximity - and he keeps his hands to himself, stepping carefully into her space. She’s tense, dark eyes narrowed as she watches him approach, and all he can smell is her - dampened by the warm, sun-baked scents of the forest around them, but distinct nonetheless - woody-sweet beneath the sharp salt of her sweat.

Reaching up carefully, he swipes his thumb along her cheekbone, catching the sap - as well as the way her breathing hitches; the way she leans into the touch, instinctively, as if she can’t help herself.

And he can't either. His hand trails down, lightly skating across her cheek, down to the soft cupid bow of her lips, her breath warm against his palm as he traces the shape of it - and her mouth brushes against his middle finger as she part her lips, almost (but not quite) a kiss. 

“You can step away now.”

Her voice is soft but firm, and there’s a hard edge to her stare when he glances back up to meet it - and the tightness in his chest _squeezes,_ bladed and sharp, before he steps back, replacing the distance between them.

“You’re good to go, sweetheart.”

The nickname rolls off his tongue, a force of habit, but she doesn’t respond to it, squaring her shoulders as she levels the forest over his shoulder with a narrow stare. 

“I’ll see you back at the Warehouse.”

She doesn’t wait for his response before moving past him, her steps loud amongst the underbrush, and growing louder with the distance.

It’s a long moment before he follows.


	10. nightmares (interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia wakes up from a nightmare.
> 
> \--
> 
> _“Do you dream?”_
> 
> _“Not often,” he admits, surprising himself with the truth as he glances down at his hands, a frown twisting down the corners of his mouth. “And not well.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interlude, set in that nebulous time period between book two and book three, when the detective has actively started working with the agency on missions.
> 
> Originally posted in three parts on tumblr for the prompts “too loud”, “shimmer” and “don’t leave”.

Something is wrong.

His eyes snap open, narrowing at the neatly panelled ceiling, ignoring the mess of crushed plastic and bent, splayed wires above him as he focuses his senses, straining to catch the sound again.

_Is that-_

It’s faint, but if he’s still enough, he can catch the edges of the discordant rhythm, the rapid pace of her heart, even from the other side of the compound. 

Mason doesn’t question his ability to find her like this, just focuses on the sound of her heartbeat, solid and familiar through the walls. It’s fast - too fast, and too strong, as if she’s fighting something, except she’s nowhere near the training rooms.

His eyes flash to the thick blinds in the corner, the thick material obscuring the windows still dark, and from the sounds coming from the rest of the facility, it’s not the hour for sparring, or anything like it. 

Shit.

He’s on his feet almost before he realises he’s moving, not bothering with his boots, preferring bare feet to the feeling of worn leather against his skin. Like this, he’s faster, anyway, as he slips from his room, silent as a whisper as he navigates the corridors of the facility.

It doesn’t take him long to narrow down her location: her bedroom is on the other side of the complex, and he picks up speed as he recognises the absence of other heartbeats, meaning she’s isolated, alone, and that means _vulnerable._

Even with all the safeguards and wards they have in place, the encounter with the mirror fae had proved one thing: they were not invulnerable to intruders. He ignores the way the thought sits weirdly in his chest, tight and heavy, focusing instead on his progress until he reaches the final hallway. He’s nearly outside her door-

A small, pained moan makes him freeze in place, tension wracking his body as he strains to hear what could be causing this, pinpoint the source of the threat. His senses are swamped by her, and he almost loses himself within the thick heady scent of her fear, the rapid pace of her heart beat - loud, _too loud_ , in his ears.

His mouth is crowded and sharp, the points of his fangs digging into his gums as he parts his lips into a snarl-

His hand is on the handle, nearly tearing it from the door as he wrenches it open, before he’s in the room, flickering to her bedside, growl caught in his throat as he hovers over her sleeping form.

 _Sleeping_.

Or rather, she _had been_ before he’d entered.

Now she sits crouched within her blankets, eyes wide and dark with the weight of her pupils, chest heaving as she clutches her hand to her chest, the other scrambling beneath the pillow for a weapon that isn’t there, and he can smell the sharp, pungent scent of her panic and fear.

A second later, her hand finds the lightswitch, her voice barely more than a whisper when she says his name.

“Mason?”

\--

For a long, drawn out moment, there is silence. 

All he can hear is the thunderous pace of her heart, nearly deafening in the space between them. His eyes are on the room, sharp as they catalogue the details, his lip curling at the physical assault the detective’s brightly coloured decor mounts on his senses - but still, he looks.

Everything is as he remembers it, exactly as it’d been when he’d left her, just a few short hours ago.

(The memory of the maa-alused’s invasion still lingers in his mind, the way her blood had lingered on the air long after the cuts on her hands had been dealt with - and Nate had left the room, after, unable to stomach the thoughts the brief taste had brought, and even Mason had needed to take some time to clear his head of the memory of it.

It had taken weeks until they’d stopped finding pieces of glass in the furniture, the small, vicious shards embedding themselves in every inch of the room in a deadly, shimmering mosaic.)

The ache in his gums recedes, until it’s little more than a dull throb, fleeting, and then gone.

Distantly, he can recognise her hand on his forearm, slender fingers cool against his heated skin, and he breathes. It takes more than one breath to settle him completely, the tension easing from his shoulders until he can turn and meet her gaze.

“Mason?” Her voice is still soft, although the words are clearer, no longer distorted by sleep. His eyes flicker between hers, searching for - an answer, an explanation. Reassurance, he realises, as he tastes the remnants of her fear on the air, hears the way her heart still beats a frantic rhythm inside her chest.

Unable to find the words, he does the next best thing - he asks with his actions, with his hands and his mouth as he breaches the distance between them and meets her lips with his own.

This kiss isn’t gentle, but her hand finds his cheek all the same, thumb smoothing along his cheekbone. Her mouth moves against his, and all other sensations fade until all he can taste is her, the kiss slowing, turning into something softer, almost tender.

He breathes again, exhaling a sigh that shapes the syllables of her name. _“Olivia.”_

"It’s okay. Everything is alright."

\--

“I was dreaming,” she explains later, breaking through the comfortable silence that’s fallen around them, soft and muted in the shadows of her bedroom. Her hands are clasped together loosely in her lap, although they twist as she speaks, her expression tightening. 

He’s seated at the edge of her bed, close enough that he can feel the warmth of her radiate through the sheets through the space between them. It’s quiet, peaceful now that the initial panic is over, and with every breath, the lingering tension fades, until it’s just the two of them, and the oncoming dawn.

His eyes shift to hers - he doesn’t have to voice the question for her to read it in his expression.

“Nothing good.” She forges a smile that’s too thin to be convincing and she knows it. “It happens.”

There’s this weight she’s been carrying, these last few weeks since they started working together again - he can recognise the signs of it, even if he doesn’t know the cause. The question hovers, at the back of his throat, waiting to be asked - but he doesn’t give voice to it. She has a right to her own privacy, and if she’s not willing to share, then he doesn’t need to know.

Still, he understands the burden, as she lets out a breath, heavy and weighted, before her eyes slide to his.

“Do you dream?”

His brow raises at that, and she gives him a flat look, running her hands through the mussed strands of her hair, already anticipating his snark.

“Not often,” he admits, surprising himself with the truth as he glances down at his hands, a frown twisting down the corners of his mouth. “And not well.”

It’s an understatement. When he does dream, it’s vivid and overwhelming, his subconscious rendering every image, every memory in excruciating detail, a tangled mess of sensations to which he can find no reprieve.

He doesn't recognise everything he sees - catching images of places and faces that he doesn't know - although for the most part those moments are brief, fleeting.

Some nights, he doesn't recognise anything at all besides the _fear_ , a sharp, visceral thing that tears into his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs - and on those nights, he seeks out the agency specialists, seeking solace in their magic and the numbness it brings.

But he doesn’t admit that, now; even if there is something in this moment that makes him want to.

Her hand on his wrist brings him back into the moment, and there’s a softness in her dark gaze that makes something shift inside his chest: a warmth, slow and building, that he doesn’t recognise.

His eyes flicker across her features, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes, the strain that pulls at the edges of her mouth, her exhaustion evident, and he draws back, restoring some of the distance between them.

“You should get some sleep. Turn off your alarm, I’ll let the others know not to expect you at the meeting.”

He shifts, preparing to make his exit, and her grip on his wrist tightens, pulling him back.

“Wait.” Her voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t leave.”

She glances away when he turns back to her, her hand falling to the sheets and clenching into a fist as a flush of heat rises to her cheeks. 

“Just - just until I fall back asleep.”

There’s an edge of fragility about her, as if the words themselves take a toll, and it’s so unlike the woman he’s come to know that it takes him a moment to react, formulate his response.

But it’s simple, once he has his answer.

“Make a space for me, sweetheart.” She releases a breath and complies, scooting back against the headboard as he pulls the covers back, slipping beneath the sheets.

Twisting away from him, she turns onto her side and after a moment’s hesitation, he follows, his hands finding her waist, wrapping around her stomach as he settles in behind her.

She’s warm and soft beneath him, in a way he’s not used to, not exactly. He doesn’t do this, he doesn’t _stay._

(But tonight, he wants to make an exception. And so he does.)


	11. kiss on the hip bone (part three, nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason finds Olivia in the aftermath of another attempted abduction.
> 
> \--
> 
> _There’s blood on her face, smeared from where the skin is split across her knuckles, and he’s moving again, closing the distance between them as his hand finds her cheek, thumbing the mark away._
> 
> _She takes in a sharp intake of breath, her brow creasing as her dark eyes flicker to meet his. “Mason-?”_
> 
> _Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s crushing his mouth to hers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of the post-demo series, please take note of the rating increase.... we're going there. (there is one more part to this, it's pwp with a helluva lot of feels okay).
> 
> **Rating: explicit. Tags: oral sex.**
> 
> Prompt: kiss on the hip bone; [click here for art from this chapter!](https://ejunkiet.tumblr.com/post/639588549527797761/theres-blood-on-her-face-smeared-from-where-the)

It’s been several weeks now since the incident at the bakery.

The forest around Wayhaven is quiet at this time of day, the shadows lengthening in the golden light filtering through the trees. Out here, he doesn't mind the summer evening, enjoying the welcome respite from the heat of the day, even with the swell of awareness that accompanies dusk.

Out here, he feels as if he can breathe deeply again, the tension in his body easing for the first time since he’d left the facility that morning, and with it the throbbing pain that had been building from the base of his skull, radiating upwards; a slow, heavy thing that echoes the beat of his pulse.

Migraine. It’s been several months since he’s had one this bad, and he can see it at the edges of his vision, the subtle distortions, bright and pulsing through the veil of cigarette smoke.

He’d known that it was coming; known that with the summer heat, it was only a matter of time.

Pulling out his silver lighter, he flicks back the lid, considering lighting up again before heading back to the warehouse. Nate would still smell the tobacco on him, but it’d be less obvious just how bad it had been, encourage less questions.

He doesn’t need to talk about it. He’s dealt with worse than this before, and he’d deal with worse again.

Besides, the older vampire would use his influence to ensure that he’s removed from the action for a while, and with the way things had been going lately, that was not an option. Not with the threat posed by the bounty; not when they needed all the help they could get.

The air on his face is sweet with the scent of wild flowers, bright and overwhelming, and he fishes the packet of cigarettes back out of his pocket, yanking one out and tapping the end of it against his wrist.

And then he pauses.

There’s something - not right, an energy in the air that sets his teeth on edge, pulling at his awareness, his senses expanding to capture more of the scents and sounds of the forest around him.

He can hear a dozen tiny heartbeats, the click and scratch of claws in the underbrush, but there, beneath it all - a buzzing, faint but unmistakable. _Electricity_ \- except there’s something about it that sparks at the back of his throat, distinctive and sharp, with a rusty tang.

More than that, he can hear a familiar heartbeat, strong and distinctive, even with the distance. Olivia.

There's that tightness again, shifting within his chest, and he frowns, lip twisting around the unlit cigarette. It was Felix’s watch, so the fact she was out in the forest again wasn’t much of a surprise, considering last time - but the fact that she was out there _alone_ -

Or- maybe not. There’s something else...

The breeze kicks up, and it’s then he smells it - sweat, human and male, accompanied by more of that metallic spark, burning at the back of his tongue.

It’s magic, he realises, recognition pooling in his gut like liquid lead. _Trappers._

_Shit._

Between one breath and the next, he’s moving.

There’s a buzzing that starts somewhere within the confines of his chest, reverberating out until it’s all he can hear - a white static that narrows his focus, eliminating all other distractions as he gauges the location, the distance.

Not far from the Warehouse facility, but far enough away that he will be the first.

(Why the fuck was she _alone?)_

The greenery blurs around him, and he barely pays attention to the crush of the undergrowth beneath his feet as he flits through the trees, the heavy leather of his jacket slapping against his skin in the wind, cigarette slipping from his lips, and shit, _shit._

He finds her scent a short distance from the path and follows it into the trees, his eyes on the light as the sun slips lower on the horizon - he can feel his awareness expanding, the flood of energy that fills his limbs, thrumming like a live wire beneath his skin, until he’s heady with it.

A muffled yelp, from just ahead - a flare of magic against his senses, a distortion in the air - the heat of it sharp and electric.

_Too late._

There's a sudden wrench in his chest, sharp and acute, fucking _painful_ \- and his vision blurs as he rips through the last few trees, skidding across the earth, a snarl caught in his throat.

The clearing is empty except for her jacket, the leather torn, snared in a tangled mess of wire.

His fangs bared, he sees _red._

"Mason?" Her voice is soft, almost breathless, and _shit._

His eyes find hers amongst the trees, before flickering over her hunched form, taking in the stains on her clothing, the rips in her tank top and jeans as she straightens herself to standing, expression twisted in a wince, favouring her right arm.

She looks annoyed, frustration creasing her brow, her lips twisting as she takes in the mess of broken equipment around her - twisted wires and fried plastic, and it’s the source of the smell, the magic he can still taste on the air, little pockets of sharp air that sear his senses as he inhales.

“They’re getting bolder,” she starts, glancing to him for acknowledgement, and there’s blood on her face, smeared from where the skin is split across her knuckles, and he’s moving again, closing the distance between them as his hand finds her cheek, thumbing the mark away.

She takes in a sharp breath, her brow creasing as her dark eyes flicker to meet his. “Mason-?”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s crushing his mouth to hers.

It’s a messy collision: a clash of teeth and lips and tongue, the kiss messy and uncoordinated, verging on the edge of desperate. She matches his fervor, her fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him in closer as her body arches into his.

His hands seek out her waist, skimming down her sides, needing to confirm for himself that she is - here.

Alive. Breathing. _Fuck._

They stumble back into the nearest tree, and she breaks away from the kiss with a gasp, dark eyes glazed as she catches her breath.

He takes a breath, too, and his awareness expands to the area around them, his senses filling with the smell of earth, trees and magic; the blood from her knuckles cooling in the air, rapidly drying.

"Shit," she manages, drawing back, but she doesn't go far, her fingers tangled in his collar. Her cheeks are flushed, a subtle blush that spreads down the neck of her tank top to the curve of her chest. "I’m okay, it’s okay.”

It isn't. The smell of her blood is still in the air, and there's anger in his chest, deep and rolling, a familiar itch in his gums, and he turns his head towards the clearing, finding that human scent again, older, heavy with the stink of adrenaline and fear.

"This was a trap, but it wasn’t for me.” She gestures to the floor of the clearing and it's then that he sees it - the dart, tipped with a dark red substance, stinging and sharp and familiar.

His lips curl back as he bares his fangs again, and he hears her breath hitch, the way her heart skips a beat within the confines of her chest before doubling in pace.

 _Fuck._ He needs to calm down.

"Mason." Her hand finds his cheek, the soft pad of her thumb skating across his cheekbone before falling back to his chest as she repeats his name. _"Mason."_

He turns back to her, and her eyes are dark as pitch, flickering between his, and he can still see the smear of blood on her cheek, dried and peeling at the edges, rust coloured flecks.

She’s here.

Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against hers.

Closing his eyes, he breathes. One breath, two, until everything else fades away: the sounds of the forest, the sharp taste of magic and blood on the air.

He sways, and she moves with him, fingers wrapped tightly in the collar of his jacket. He can hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat - still a little fast, but settling with every passing moment, and it’s a _relief._

The throbbing at the base of his skull eases, fading away.

"...Mason."

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to find hers on his; soft and open.

It’s been weeks since they’ve been like this - since she’s been close enough to touch. Not since the last time he’d found her out in the forest - and the heat of her breath against his skin had branded him, lingering long after she’d left him in the clearing, an ache in his chest that he didn’t - still doesn’t - understand.

Her heart beat thrums in his ears, loud, always so _loud_. He doesn’t want to meet her stare, isn’t sure what he’ll find there if he does. He’s far overstepped the boundaries she’d drawn between them.

He looks anyway.

Her eyes are dark, swallowed by the weight of her pupils. Her breath is coming faster than it should, her cheeks flushed, brow furrowed, and she’s watching him just as intently as he’s watching her, gaze flickering across his features.

He glances back down at her mouth, catching the way her breath hitches, the leather of his jacket creaking under her tightening grip, and it’s not fear that’s tripping her heart rate, he realises, but something else.

Something soft, familiar. _Want._

With a muttered curse, she pushes forward to meet his mouth with hers again.

Her hands tangle in the collar of his jacket, then his hair as she reaches for him, clutching him closer. Her kisses are needy, filled with a frantic energy that he matches, his hands slipping beneath her shirt, splaying wide across the soft warmth of her stomach.

His hands find her hips then, pressing closer as his thigh slips between her legs, and she arches against him, her head tilting back, falling against the trunk of the tree.

She lets out a heavy breath, sweat glistening at the base of her throat. _“Fuck.”_

That’s all the invitation he needs, and he leans in to taste her, the salt of her sweat sharp against his tongue, mingled with a faint sweetness, familiar and intoxicating.

A soft moan slips from her lips as her hands move to his shoulders, his neck, tangling in his hair as she clutches at him, pulling him closer until he’s lost in the scent of her, soft and sweet beneath the scent of the earth and the lingering sparking taste of magic in the air.

He hitches his knee higher, feels her shudder against him, the flutter of her pulse beneath his lips, the delicious way her body responds to him, and it’s as if a missing piece has fallen back into place, a feeling of wholeness, something he hadn’t even realised he was missing until it’d been replaced.

(But that wasn’t it, at all. He’d been fully aware of it, a gaping absence, a thought he couldn't shake-)

Her body arches against his grip as he trails his mouth along her throat, finding that place at the hinge of her jaw that makes her gasp, her fingers tightening in his hair as he lets out a low groan, slipping his hand higher beneath her shirt.

Up, skating along her ribs, and _fuck,_ of course she wasn’t wearing a bra, not in this heat-

_"Mason.”_

She makes another small sound, her hands twisting in his hair, before her grip tightens, and she drags him back up to meet her mouth, the kiss messy and deep, and he knows that she wants this just as much as he does.

That she's been thinking about it just as much as he has. Thinking about _her_.

(Fuck, he can’t _stop_ thinking about her.)

With a strength he didn’t know she had in her (and she must have been working on those combat lessons with Adam, her movements quick and precise, reminiscent of his fighting style), she twists him to the side, flipping their positions until his back is pressed against the trunk.

Her breath is hot against his chest as she angles her head up to look up at him.

“This is going to happen on my terms.”

He shifts beneath her hands, the slow skate of her palms down his ribs, the lines of his abdomen, settling on the thick waistband of his jeans as she glances up at him, and he can see the dilation of her pupils, the way she shifts on her feet.

Her eyes are dark, almost black, depths fathomless in the shadows cast by the trees around them, her voice low and husky when she speaks.

“Just so you know, I’m still mad at you.”

He lets out a low growl at that, although it subsides into a groan as a hand slips beneath his waistband, teasing, the other pushing up his shirt as her mouth follows its path in a blazing line of soft kisses, trailing along his abdomen.

She nips at the jut of his hip bone, soothing the sting with a kiss, and the growl returns full force, strained as he shifts against her grip.

_"Olivia."_

"I'm returning the favour."

The words are familiar, spoken from what feels like a century ago, a similar position, a similar tree - but he doesn't have much time to consider it before her fingers work the buttons of his jeans and pushes them down his hips, her mouth trailing lower as she drops onto her knees, and _fuck._

She looks up at him as her hand slips into his underwear, palm hot against him, leaning forward until he can feel the rush of her breath against his skin, and he growls, his fingers digging into the rough bark of the tree behind him to keep himself steady.

His hand finds her hair as she noses against his abdomen, breath hot and wet and _so close_ to where he wants her, and she hums, finding his gaze, the dark depths of her eyes shining in the grey light that filters through the trees.

"Stay still."

She takes him then, and _fuck._ Soft lips, a clever tongue, the twist of her hand and it’s all he can do to hold himself back, keep from losing himself completely to the tidal pull of sensation as she swallows, pressing closer, taking as much of him as she can handle, and-

 _“Fuck.”_ His hips jerk, despite his best efforts, and her eyes flash open, narrowing as a hand moves to his hip, nails biting into the skin there in warning.

It's all-consuming, nearly overwhelming, and fuck, he’s not going to last if she keeps this up.

 _"Olivia,"_ he manages, and she draws back with a muted gasp, her hand moving faster against him as she rests her flushed cheek against his hip, eyes bright beneath dark lashes as she watches him.

“Come on, sunshine.”

Her voice is a low hum against his skin as her fingers move against him, twisting around him and wrenching a growl from his chest as she presses a soft bite against his hip bone, and _shit._

With a low groan, his hips thrust forward, and he spills into her hands and onto his stomach - and she carries him through it, following his movements until he trembles and leans away. He barely has enough time to catch his breath before she leans in, still too sensitive as the wet heat of her tongue laps at his skin, _tasting_ him-

“ _Fuck. Come here.”_

He brings her back up, taking in her flushed cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, and crashes his mouth against hers, groaning at the taste of himself on her tongue.

His hands find the front of her jeans, yanking down the zip as he slips his hand past the band, down to where he knows she’s ready, can smell the heady scent of her arousal on the air as she lets out a shuddering breath, hips canting forwards into the touch.

His mouth drops to her throat, tasting that flush for himself, before her hand wraps around his wrist, her grip light but pointed, a request - _wait._

He stops. His heart is a thundering thing inside his chest, and he _aches_ for her in a way he can’t put into words, but still - he waits.

(The tightness in his chest has returned, sharp as a knife.)

Drawing back slowly, he meets her gaze, and her eyes are dark, pupils blown. He can see how much she wants this, see the conflict as she wavers, before finally-

“Not here.”

Sliding his hand out, he lifts his fingers to his lips, taking in the way her breath hitches as he licks them clean, the flush deepening on her cheeks.

He grins then, wide and sharp, the relief a swooping rush within his chest. Fixing his jeans, he ducks in close, sweeping her off her feet in one swift move as he tucks her against his chest.

"Hold on tight, sweetheart."

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the series for longer, smuttier stories within this verse (a personal favourite is '[a question of trust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410807)', which is set several months into the future, and is really bloody soft and sensual and just everything I can do to further the soft!M agenda)!
> 
> \--
> 
> Comments/kudos greatly appreciated! Follow me on tumblr (ejunkiet) and check [this tag](https://ejunkiet.tumblr.com/tagged/detective-olivia-greene) for earlier updates, snippets & art!


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